


Of crumbling lives and blooming hope

by Follow (Scheska)



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 22:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15981479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheska/pseuds/Follow
Summary: A messenger from hell, a fallen angel. He comes delivering despair and hoplessness, chaos and destruction. A mighty ass kicking and his life burning to ashes. But along with that, he offers him heaven.





	Of crumbling lives and blooming hope

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mad at myself, I wanted to do this so bad, then got caught up arguing with life and forgot. I hurried this one up to post it on time, then proof-read it and fix it at 4am, fall asleep, some force of nature reboots my laptop and I lose the changes. And here I am again, re-fixing what I already forgot fixed in the first place. I did my best, but this might be a mess. 
> 
> But anyway:
> 
> For Double B week, day five
> 
> : for Heaven
> 
> : calm&storm isolation; fist fight; confrontation; absolution; true&false
> 
> : Three days grace - Outsider (album)

He can’t see much through the dust and debris, he blinks some away, eyes watering intensely. His legs almost give up under his weight as he tries to stand up, and his back burns and stabs him in pain. The floor wobbles, the sounds melt and echo, the whole place diffuses and darkens. His head is hurting something ugly, and he can feel warm, dirty blood sticking to his forehead and the side of his face.

 

But he takes the step forward, breathing in the dust and the smoke, coughing it back up. His muscles are crying and spasming some, and his bruises and cuts and burns eat him up, almost competing against each other in a numbing way. But he cannot let this stop him, he has to end this, he’s shaking as much for pain and exhaustion as for the sheer desperation to not give up, to not let this happen. 

 

But Bobby’s right there, standing still, not stumbling, not coughing, not bleeding. All he managed was a bruise here and there, a rip on the sleeve, the missing knife now discarded on the floor behind him, coated in red and some grime. 

 

“You sure are stupid, yeah?” Bobby says, voice low and almost uncaring, dripping on the dirty floor like hot tar. 

 

But he can’t spit a retort anymore, gone are the sarcasm and the affront, the arguments and the reasons are buried under heaps of mind numbing despair and blind drive. 

 

“What  _ more  _ do you need? A missing arm? A severed leg? A blind eye? Please, name it and I’ll give it to you” the other goes on, his voice a bit louder. But not in true plea, he’s not pleading, he never will. Because he knows that he doesn’t have to, never did. 

 

He’s about to get away with it. He’s about to bring down the entire system, he’s about to effectively sabotage their only defence against their impending demise. He’s about to bring them annihilation, and there’s nothing Hanbin can do about it. 

 

He’s defeated, he failed, he can barely walk, barely think straight, he did all he could, fought to the last of his ability. And this is the result, total failure. The trust of the people, the very same that drove him forward until then, now weighs him down to the ground. 

 

He can hear them praying, outside, in their homes, hoping and begging to all and nothing to not let this madman destroy them. To not let the awaiting hordes outside the walls barge in and masacre them, beat them to dust, fists or plague. Burn them to ashes and bury them in the ruins. They are giving their very last hope to him, they already did. And this is all he can give them back. A few bruises, a ripped sleeve. And their death.

 

“Don’t-” he sobs, half in cough and half in blood, knees hitting the ground, air burning in his lungs “Don’t do this” and now he’s begging, because he can’t do more. He’s on his knees, pleading to a lunatic, a terrorist, a criminal to not do what he embarked to do since he sneaked a boot into the city, covered up in the night and the rags, crawling under the skin of the outside until hell ignited, hiding in the shadows inside while his dogs barked at the doors.

 

And the laugh he gets is what he expected “Not do this?” the mockery is so palpable, he can feel it over the pain “Are you delirious now?” his voice comes like gravel, a little ungainly and harsh, slurred. Maybe it’s the sheer amusement, maybe his normal speech. It was never very clean, accent and all “Listen here, Binnie boy” he steps forward, the gait firm and tight, against his loose tone “You don’t seem to grasp the situation. All those stupid little stunts you’ve been pulling over and over and over against me, time and time again being the fucking stone in my goddamn shoe,” he comes closer, he can see the grim on his face, his sharp eyes narrowing, the crooked smile thinning “all these righteous useless speeches you have ingrained in that foggy mind of yours” his voice lowers, it loses a bit of its airynes, it becomes something hard and poisonous “All that shit you preach like a machine, all the lies you feed to the people, that rotten mockery of life you give them, they give  _ you _ ” he flinches back when the man steps right in front of him, and leans forward, over him, looming like a fortress, a mountain, impossible, immovable, and why did he thing he’d be able to shake it? “All the white noise that’s ringing in your ears, in your head” sharp fingers hit his temples, and he almost falls to the side “You think you can bottle up in this joke of a paradise and let the world rot in hell outside? You think you are not burning already?” he stares, hard and stinging “Don’t you fucking see kid? I’m not a bad guy, am I? I’m trying to set these people free” 

 

And he wants to believe him, so bad. Because then he could stop, he could fucking stop this fight, he could stop hurting, he could stop feeling desperate and hopeless and scared to hell and back. Be he can’t, because he knows what’s on the other side, he heard, he saw. The masses of rugged rebels, the burning fury in their eyes, the rage in their voices. There were no daisies in their hands, but launchers and semi-automatics, knives and bottled fire. There were no smiles on their faces, but blazing eyes, rags and masks. There is no freeing his people, they’re going to erase them from existence. Because life was shit to the ones outside, and the people inside could do nothing to help them; because the plague had beaten them to the ground, but there was still no cure in sight. They were angry, they were sick, but this was not the solution. They would not find the answers inside the city, there was truly no cure. And there will never be one if this lunatic wins.

 

But how could he make this man understand? He had tried, God, he had. All his words had been unheard, thrown to the wind to be spread into nothingness. And still, there is not much more he can do, they are all half condemned, all it’d take was for the switches to be flicked, the detonators will go off, the central will blow half to pieces, half the perimeter will shut down, their defences will fall, the hordes will break in, and they will be annihilated in the anger and misguided search for a solution that is not there to begin with. 

 

“There is no-” he starts, his mouth clenches and his throat pushes up, anguish running ahead of him “You won’t find what you look for” he garbles “You know-”

 

“I know,” Bobby interrupts “I know what’s hiding up in the government’s tower. And I know what you people do with the plagued ones, I know how you keep untouched. I  _ know _ ”

 

And there it was again, the blind unreasonable quest for the inexistent, a delirium just to have a target to charge against 

 

“No!” he pushes, using all that’s left in him to lunge. 

 

It’s stupid and useless, but it’s all he has. Because the man left his control in the fountain, sunken in the contaminated waters that had been infiltrated the night prior, part of the maddening siege. His foolish attempt had not really done much, Bobby was, after all, immune to this shitty plague and the fact had been dreadly clear when he reached into the water without batting an eyelash, how his arm did not stain at all, how right now he’s still steady and in control. Fucking immune. So it all came down to pushing him away for as long as he could, and getting crushed for all his efforts. Pointless, useless. Now this is all the hope he can find. The only thing left for him to try, the man won’t go down, not by his hands and not by anyone’s at this point. 

 

So he lunges forward, right under Bobby’s arm, just past the kicking leg. He runs, there’s not much to cover, a few strides and he reaches. He just need a moment, a handful of seconds, pull the wires, crush the control, hope to God someone comes to his aid already. He can see the black thing, the values flickering, the stupid thing not bothered by water at all. All so fucking pointless, all he did, all he tried. What if the wires did nothing either? What if it ended up detonating instead? What if he seizes up in convulsions before he can do anything? But what else can he do? So he does what he can, he sinks his hand, his arm, feels the box against his fingers-

 

And then a shattering impact to his side pushes him away. He’s flung to the right, hits the ground once, rolls, hits twice, a piece of furniture collides with his leg, then the wall against his back. The air leaves him all at once, feels as if half his organs have flown away, the place twirls violently, his vision blackens and his ears ring loudly. And then bright light again, the sound sloshes back. And the moment everything stops moving, his body explodes in newborn pain. 

 

Amidst the swirling pulses and shots, he hears the yell. Distorted between buzzes and shrill ringing “ _ You fucking idiot! _ ” it says, but all he can do in response is sob and scream when his leg jolts.

 

And this is it, he can no longer move, his body is disconnecting, his mind his sinking, all he feels is his despair and his pain, his fear and regret. He failed, completely, he doomed them all.     

 

“You are truly a moron of highest caliber!” angry, he sounds angry “What good will do you to get plagued?! Why can’t you fucking. Give. Up!” he sounds louder, closer, and then the big black blob rushes closer, kneels down.

 

He still hears buzzes and distortion, his ragged breath, he’s groaning… No, he’s crying now. He hears himself, then feels the hiccuping sobs, lost in between sharp stabs of pain. He can’t breathe properly, it’s wet and sticky and congested all over, he doesn’t know if it’s tears, saliva, snot or blood anymore. It just fucking hurts, and he did all wrong, and they’re all gonna die and he doesn’t want to fucking kill everyone and die.

 

He gets pulled, again, hurts. Hands move him, and well, maybe if he gets killed before everything goes to proper shit, he won’t have to see it. If Bobby is not too angry, or maybe angry enough, he’ll do it quickly. But that makes him cry harder because fuck, he really doesn’t want to die. Goddamn, why is this all happening?

 

“Enough, now” he hears, so close “It’s enough” and then he realizes, the hands around his face, and his body, still hurting, but not so overwhelmingly. He can actually feel his limbs, understand where his legs are, his arms. He’s lying on the ground, facing up, legs stretched… And Bobby kneeling to his side. Blurry, but there.

 

What is gonna happen now? Why like this? For dramatic impact? A last gift of dignity? Or is he just gonna leave him there to be swarmed when all the riot explodes. Because even in this position, even if his body starts compensating slowly, he can’t move anymore, he can’t run away, he can’t fight back. He doesn’t want to be left here to die, at least- At least care enough! Do it yourself! Don’t leave me to-!

 

“That’s enough” a finger goes over his cheek, then the other, the hands on his face don’t leave. The voice sounds so much softer now. Is he hallucinating? Is he dead already? What’s going on? “You did enough, kid, please just give up”

 

... What? He blinks a few times, the blur doesn’t really go, but the pooling tears fall. Bobby is still there, and it’s his hands on his face. He tries to move his arm, but it’s so hard, and now it also hurts, so. No. He tries to speak, then chokes. His head his moved to a side, and he coughs, deep and ugly until he spits something he’s not sure what is. But the air moves a bit better now, at least. 

 

He tries again “What-? Wha-?” he really can’t do much better, his nose is clogged and burning and he has to breathe through his mouth, but it’s still choking up in unruly sobs. 

 

“I said, enough” Bobby holds his arm and pushes it back down, though he doesn’t really know when he even tried to lift it “You don’t have to do this anymore. You did what you could, and you did great, but this is the end”

 

“No- Ple-... Wait, don’t” he sputters, eyes going wide.

 

“You shouldn’t even be here, Hanbin” Bobby growls, his gravel voice tight and angry. But Hanbin can barely notice, stunned by the emotion in the other’s face. Because it doesn’t look like aggravation or annoyance or…  Nothing he’d expect. He looks… Regretful, sad? Why in hell? “Do you not see? Can’t you see how fucked up this all is? That you, a fucking kid, is sent to deal on his own with a terrorist? Over and over? Pulled from a metal doll-house and put back in? That you alone are made responsible of the fate of a whole city? Where are your reinforcements? Why is no one coming after you called? Why is what’s left of the troops and weapons are out there shooting rebels, caging civilians in useless bunkers, evacuating the big fat bosses to the real ones, waiting for  _ you _ to solve  _ me _ or die trying?!” he grows agitated, his hands pressing his cheeks, his voice going louder “How can you not see?

 

“The people in charge here are sick, Hanbin, and I don’t mean the plague at all. They are fucking rotten to the core and you have to get rid of their lies!” and then, lower, almost imperceptible “You’re too good for this hellhole, Bin”

 

Hanbin says nothing, of course. Just stares, not really knowing what to think. Because, well… He  _ is  _ alone, has been so far, dealing with this man. But what does Bobby know about him in any case? And what was he to do? He was supposed to do it, he was trained for this, this is his purpose, so he did. Right?

 

“Do you know who I am, Bin?” Bobby asks then.

 

And Hanbin knows, and the man knows he knows, but “B-Bobby?”

 

A laugh, short and hollow “Yeah, but no. My name’s Kim Jiwon”

 

And it takes a moment, because his brain is struggling so much right now, numbing the pain into a pulsing cloud instead of several sharp stabs, and trying to make sense of all of this. But then it hits, the name. The previous batch of them. The previous  _ him.  _ The ones lost to the rage of the rebels. Heroes, martyrs, the ones that gave their lives to keep them all alive and safe. This couldn’t be one of them. Bobby, this maniac about to blast them all into a masacre, could not be Kim Jiwon, the name engraved in stone in the monuments, the one he longed for guidance from, the same he draw strength from when he felt beaten. The shadow, the silhouette, the tall back. It’s all he has left, all he can salvage from his memories.

 

He’s shaking his head, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, but Bobby smiles, crooked, accepting, rueful “I know. You won’t believe shit of it, huh? Of course you don’t, why do you think we are nothing but names, no faces to match?” then he leans slightly back, rubs a hand to his nose, sniffs “But that’s who I am, Binnie. Do you know of me? Do you know of us? Or are we just a blank space in your head now?”

 

Why is he having this conversation? The control is still under water, the bombs waiting to blow, the mobs of rebels still pushing, the people still praying… The Governors and Counselors, the head pharmacists and investors, all probably waiting in some bunker, or not even there anymore? Probably at the next safe city already.

 

“U-Unit B?” he says, almost surprising himself, sobs subsiding.

 

“Unit B” Bobby nods “Dead, right? All six of us, killed by the rebels, trying to hold back the invasion while the gates regained power” he scoffs “Know what was the mistake then? They targeted a gate, a sector. They rushed. This,” he points over his shoulder “is gonna shut half their fucking city down, and it won’t do with restarting the circuit to fix it. We’ll flood the fuck out of this place before they can shit their pants” he smiles again, but this time a set of bunny teeth peak out, and his face softens “This time there won’t be a martyr to cry” he looks serious then “You hear me? You won’t be becoming a stupid stone plaque for people to sigh at, you are not a tool for them to manipulate the masses, Hanbin. You’ve done enough of that already” he’s standing “I- _ we _ were their mistake, immune to the plague, hard to kill when out of control, too many of us, too much room to think on our own. They think they fixed that with you, but guess what?” he walks away, and Hanbin feels sudden dread “You can be as faulty as me, and I’m making sure of that”

 

He turns his head trying to follow him with his eyes, but all he hears is the water splashing, and then a loud set of clicks. A second of silence, his blood rushing, his mind chanting all kinds of pleads and prayers. And finally, a deep rumble, just a building away, the floor trembles as the second rumble comes louder, crawling up from the pits, and then it skyrockets to the effective downfall he tried so hard ro stop. 

 

The central is crumbling, the city is stopping in momentaneous shock, the walls are dying. The blasts are almost deafening, and he feels the entire place shake underneath him. He hears the columns crumbling, feels them in the tremors of the ground, it’s all falling to pieces, burning to ashes.

 

When they finally stop, for a moment there is only silence. The echo of the explosions, the void of the energy dissolving into nothing. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg, doesn’t curse. He’s left empty, all his spirit has gone, sucked into the dirty ground. It’s done, they are done. 

 

Steps come closer, but far, far outside their little nook of passive destruction, he hears the first clamor of disaster. They’re breaking in, charging at the dormant gates with all they have. The city troops are now on their own. They all are. And he did nothing to stop it.

 

“I’m sorry it had to be this way Hanbin” his voice is soft, but not really regretful “I know it’s hard to see now, but I know you’ll understand. I hope you will”

 

“How could you do this?” he speaks without really meaning to.

 

“Because I’m done waiting, I’m done believing in lies, and I’m done letting people be sacrificed for the good of this handful of pigs”

 

“You are killing these people” he croaks, glare fogged in despondency and exhaustion “What of  _ them _ ?”

 

“I told you, and you’ll see for yourself, that the people is not our target. I can't promise you no one will die, this is a war Hanbin, but we are not after the ones hiding in the crumbling bunkers ”

 

“You fucking liar-”

 

“Enough now” he comes closer, kneels again “It’s time we leave this place. You look good to move now, but you won’t be getting any better on your own” 

 

“What?”

 

Bobby leans in, and he feels an arm looping under his knees, another nudging his back. He jolts in surprise, this has to stop.

 

“Don’t try to fight me now, Bin, you know it won’t do you any good”

 

And of course it doesn’t, the moment he moves, a choked scream pushes out of him under the sharp shocks of pain that rattle him.

 

“Easy boy, ‘t's ok. You’ll be better soon” the voice sounds so close, so soft, the new cloud of rush and confusion overwhelming.

 

But still he struggles, as pointless as it is, a token of resistance, even if it bites back in painful shocks. Bobby just adjusts his grip, hoists him up a little more, continues where he left off “I’m not out for their blood, did we not warn the flood of bad water? Have you ever seen me killing a civilian, Hanbin?” he asks, tone almost conversational.

 

And he really doesn’t have time for it, but at the same time, there’s nothing he can do either. Might as well “What of it? Not seeing it doesn’t mean-” he stops to yelp when his leg bends a bit too much to a side. 

 

“I’ve tried so hard not to antagonize you, but you are a hell of a stubborn brat” he’s not sure if he should take pride or compliment in that, but at this point he’ll take anything “Feisty one they trained, huh?” he sighs, Hanbin feels it in the chest against him “You were too good a kid, and I know you’re a solid guy under all that credulity, Bin, I fucking know. So- “another adjustment of the grip “stop  _ struggling _ because nothing’s gonna stop me from taking you out of this fucking hell hole. You’ll get better. With some luck you didn’t catch plague with that stupid dive, you look fine so far. If not, we’ll have to rush the hell out to the tower, and that wasn’t really in our immediate plans…” 

 

Hanbin kind of loses thread of it, Bobby’s voice is starting to melt his words together and he can really no longer hold much of his attention on anything but not fainting and breathing deeply. He struggles, to stay conscious, to pull some remaining strength from somewhere, to argue, but he’s failing. Again. 

 

“It’s ok, let go Bin, for this once please just let go” Bobby’s voice rings soft in the darkness, rivaling the acute buzz that ends up swallowing him whole “This is not the end, I promise you, it’s a new beginning” he tries to look, but can’t feel his eyelids, or his legs, or the pain “Your new beginning”

 

\-----

 

He can see the columns of dark smoke ascend to grey clouds, the chaos now dormant over the ruins. The looming walls breached and bent, smudges of fire and arson splattered all over them. From a distance they look like smudges of ink, but he knows, he saw, the bright arms of fire crawling up in the night, reaching the turbulent sky with flickering fingers, towering over them all as they ripped the resistance open with more fire and metal, shoulders and fingers pushing and clawing. They were a mess, frightening and chaotic, angry and sick. They were the raging voices of the outside, the mobs and hordes of tumultuous rebels waiting on the lines, dressed in dust and soot, armed with vengeance and drive. 

 

But now they lay at rest, contemplating from a distance, the sun high above them painting the fallen city a different color. Grey and pale brown instead of black and vibrant orange. 

 

He shifts on his seat, the leather squeaking, and looks forward, through the dirty windshield cracked on a corner.

 

“What you gonna do with the pig we got?”

 

“We’ll see” is the answer “He’s willing to talk, it seems, should be easy enough”

 

“They’re running out of places to hide, no?” he lays back, breathes out slowly “The more they run the less support they retain, I’ve seen. Soon we’ll arrive and find the job done for us, eh?” he chuckles.

 

A few fingers reach from the side, brush the hair from his forehead, then go down to the edge of his brow, tracing softly where he knows rests a scar. The lone souvenir of the last time he saw in him the end, the first time he saw in him his future. 

 

He opens his eyes and looks to the side, the fingers keep tracing the mark, so he smiles, knowing what thoughts run behind the sharp, pensive eyes that stare back at him. He smiles and brings the hand down to his mouth, planting a noisy kiss to the knuckles “Stop that, it won’t go even if you keep rubbing at it”

 

“I know” the soft voice is not really what he wanted, but he can’t do much more when a bang makes him jump in his seat.

 

“Come on, lovebirds, we moving now!” Jay hollers through their window, slapping their truck a few more times “Start that engine!” 

 

The truck roars to life, along all the others, the ruckus outside, and back at the trailer, is signal of everyone ready to move on. Waiting outside a raided city is not the most pleasant for any of them. But they’re almost there, new people joining, all the people staying, it doesn’t really matter to him. When all of it ends, they’ll be all the same. 

 

“We’re almost there, Bin” the hand comes back, to his thigh this time.

 

“I know” he turns, but before he says anything else, a flash of sharp eyes and a wrinkled nose, bunny teeth and a crooked smile dive in, a wet smooch on his lips, burning hot and solid, and then it’s gone.

 

“Ready partner?”

 

He laughs, feeling the bubbling emotion Jiwon always manages to pass him like the fucking plague “Always partner”

 

There’s a whoop, kinda wild and kinda giddy, and he’s smiling like an utter dork, watching as Jiwon presses the gas and starts the journey.

 

“Bobby and B.I ready to start a riot again!”

 

He pulls up the rags up to his nose, reaches out to do the same for Bobby, locks the belt and looks ahead. As always now, they look ahead and charge still for their new beginning.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
